


Usta

by Gaqalesqua



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, turkish hunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuf survives, thanks to another assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usta

The first time she saw him, dark hair, bright scarf and a contagious grin, she was struck by desire, a thing she tried to hide. This was Istanbul, where most women went covered in scarves, hiding themselves, and so she would have to hide who she was too. When she joined, most girls wanted the  _akıl hocası_ , the Mentor, but not her. She wanted silver-flecked black and tousled curls, a face with a scar across the cheek, and loud, infectious laughter she could hear all the way across the Galata District. And for a while, wanting was all she was allowed. It gave way to daydreams – the idea of his tousled hair beneath her fingers, mouth fluttering open in desire as they knew each other. His hands above his head, bound in his pretty scarf, as she trailed her mouth down…

And wanting was all she got, until  _akıl hocası_  went to Cappadocia and Ahmet attacked the hideout. The knife that got Yusuf should have killed him, but she was there, and her blade bought enough time for them both to escape, to flee to save with whoever else made it out. When the Mentor returned, Yusuf was badly injured, but alive, and also unable to fulfil his duties. So Ezio Auditore turned to her and made her Master of the Constantinople Assassins, ordained her Yusuf’s duties, and off he went with Sofia Sartor, back to Italy. To say she was surprised was not the word. Shocked, awed, confused as to her new position – yes, all these and more.

She had not realised that her new rank would mean she would be spending more time with Yusuf, slowly helping him with his wound, making sure new recruits realised when he was joking and such, and as the days passed, and the damage healed, she touched his hand, leaned over a map table in front of him. When he began to run again without wincing, she would challenge him to races, spar with him, her body pressed against his as they fought skilfully. When he didn’t respond, she wondered if she had pushed too hard, made it too obvious. Had it turned him away from her affections?

And then one day, she rearranged some books in the library at the Galata headquarters, and leaning slightly over to put a book in, she felt the lightest touch on her hip, not even marginally close to where she wanted it to be, and a voice in her ear murmured “ _kızdırmak_.”

Tease.

When she turned, he was gone, the door closing behind him, but she got the message. Yusuf was amiable to her suggestions.

The next time she was in the library, he was waiting for her, and with a barked order any subordinates left in the room scarpered, shutting the door behind them. He was on her, pressing her back against Ezio’s desk, smiling against her neck as he pressed his teeth into the skin gently. Fingers had her armour and trousers down faster than she could comprehend, and she pushed herself into his touch as he stroked her softly, her hands braced against the Mentor’s desk – he wouldn’t be needing it, the desk was theirs now, and then he was hot against her thigh, sliding inside her, and she let out a strangled gasp as he filled her, one arm around her body to hold her close, the other between her legs, and she reached up, grabbed a fistful of dark curls, pulled a little.

He bucked like a horse and bent her hard over the desk, her nails scraping over the wood as he muttered Turkish curses. The hand around her body slid beneath her shirt, fondling her breast. He pulled out, rolling her onto her front, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as the assassin held her against him. It was her turn to bite him, bury her fingers in his hair, and ride him as best she could. He braced her against the desk, back on the wood, and kissed her, hard but passionate, his beard rough against her face. She untied his headscarf, watching the black tresses slip down, brushing them gently from his eyes as his thrusts became more frenzied. It felt good – it felt very good – but it was the pace of a man who had not done this for a while. When he held her close, face in her neck, and she felt him spill, he looked at up at her, grinning like a fool.

“Between the Byzantines and Ottoman, the wound and running about after  _akıl hocası_ , I have barely had time to appreciate you,” he murmured, that smile still on his face. “Let me make it up to you,  _usta_.”

Master.

He kissed down her body, tongue flicking over the sweaty skin, and she watched his head disappear between her thighs, and now the sensation of his beard was rough against other places, and it was too good, almost too much for her, and when he slid his fingers in, her head hit the wall, and her heart almost stopped. Legs over his shoulders, she shivered in pleasure, quaking around his touch as he built her up to something wonderful. The sounds dropping from her mouth increased in volume as heat gathered between her legs, and then it gave way, and she called for him as the feeling rushed through her, holding him tightly.

Slowly, he extricated himself from her, wiping his mouth clean, and he kissed her once more, almost offering her clothes back to her.

That stupid grin was still there. 


End file.
